"Father," murmured Colina remonstratingly. "You must save your strength."
He shook her off impatiently. "Must I submit to be bearded in my own house by this scamp, this fire-brand, this destroyer?"
Ambrose could not bandy words with this wreck of a strong man. He signed to Tole, and they went outside and joined Macfarlane.
The three of them waited in the doorway in a kind of armed truce, smoking and watching the Indians across the square. At any moment they expected to see the yelling demons turn against the house.
By and by Ambrose heard the library door open. The light inside had been put out again for greater safety.
He heard Colina come out, and go the other way in the passage. He knew her by the rustle of her skirts. She went up-stairs on some errand.
His heart leaped up. He could no longer deceive himself with the fancy that he had ceased to love her. Not with death staring them both in the face. He quietly made his way back into the house to intercept her on her return.
When he heard her coming he whispered her name. Here in the middle of the house it was totally dark.
"You!" she gasped, stopping short. But the scorn had gone out of her voice, and somehow he knew that he was already in her thoughts when he spoke. He put out a hand toward her.
"Don't touch me!" she whispered, shrinking sharply.